In the Corner, by the Window
by Jadea
Summary: Best friends. Harry and Ron. Seamus and Dean. Lavender and Pavarti. Fred and George. Neville and. . .


Author: Jadea 

Disclaimer: Sigh. "Can you say, 'Not Mine?' Sure, I knew that you could." 

Rating. G. there is absolutely nothing objectional in this fic. (Unless, of course, you're one of those zealouts who burn HP books. . .) 

Summary: Best friends. Let's see, Harry and Ron. Dean and Seamus. Fred and George. Lavender and Pavarati. Hermoine and Ginny. Colin and Dennis. Neville and. . .   
  


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It's awfully chilly in the Common Room tonight. I keep getting goosebumps. . . .I'm sitting by the window, and the cold air keeps seeping under the window, numbing my fingers. . . 

The wind is howling outside, and if it wasn't so dark I could see the flurries of snow, rushing past in blinding white gusts, obscuring the Quidditch Pitch, Hagrid's Cabin, the lake. It's cold over here, in the corner. I'd like to move. . .to settle myself in one of the scarlet padded wooden chairs by the fire. The one nearest the grate. If I got close enough, my fingers would tingle with that pins and needles feeling you get when the blood begins flowing too roughly through your veins. . . 

I could sit in the chair by the fire and be warm. 

But, I can't. 

The air swirls and eddies here, in the corner by the window. I had to pin down the pages of my parchement with a couple of boxes of Sugar Quills Gram gave me. Did you know that when Sugar Quills get cold enough, they break? 

And if they get too hot, they dissolve. 

Hmmm. I should really be doing my homework. 

Snape. . .Snape picked on me today. 

Again. 

A Vanishing potion is one of the most difficult brews any wizard can attempt. The potion was first believed to have been mixed in 1631 by Zalar Schubard But his claim was disputed by Martin Alick, who later vanished before he could cooroborate his claim with evi-- 

God! What was that? 

Oh. 

Ron. 

He and Harry are sitting on the couch, studying from Harry's Transfiguration book. Well, they're supposed to be studying. Right now Ron's sprawled across half the couch, head thrown back, shaking with laughter. And Harry's doubled up, clutching his sides with one arm, pushing his glasses up his nose with the other. It's a gesture I've seen him do--well, I guess about a million times. 

It must be nice to have someone like that. Someone to laugh with, you know? From the first day, on the Hogwarts Express. . .they just clicked. Harry and Ron. They Dynamic Duo. The Dream Team. Ron makes Harry laugh, and Harry. . .no one in the world is more important to Harry then Ron is. 

The flames are casting flickering shadows across the carpet on the stone walls. . .but the light doesn't reach over here. Ron just bent down to pick up Harry's transfiguration textbook: it fell on the floor when Harrry started laughing. They're both reading Harry's because Ron's finally fell apart not two weeks ago. . .the hapless victim of five Weasley brothers. 

Harry's still sniggering, and when Ron leans over and points to something in the book, they're off to the races again. It's infectuous, their laughter. Even the way they laugh is complementary: Ron with total abandon, Harry softer, clutching his sides, as if he's trying to hold it in. 

They've managed to do the impossible, pull Hermoine away from her artithmancy homework. Or at least distract her. She's been sitting in one of the chairs closest to the fire all this time, but the occassional sparks are beneath her notice. Harry and Ron, aren't, though. For a moment she looks up, exasperation written clearly across her features, lips pursed, brow furrowed. . ..but she has a different look in her eyes. There's a light there, when she looks at them. Hermoine's gone back to her arithmancy, biting her lower lip intently as her brain processes everything. Her lips move soundlessly, mouthing an equation. The firelight flickers and the rosy tint on her lower lip, where she bit down, is slowly dissipating, fading into its normal coral color. 

Hermoine was the first person I met on the Hogwarts Express. I'd lost Trevor and was almost crying when she stopped me in the corridor of the train and asked me what was wrong. She was so strong, so smart, so take charge in that moment that she reminded me of Gram. . . we hunted for Trevor together. She talked to me while we looked, and for a while. . .I thought she'd be my friend. 

And for a while, she was. 

For the first two months of First year, we were together. . .the way Seamus and Dean were together, the way Lavender and Pavratti were together. The way Harry and Ron were together. We were partners. We sat next to each other at the Gryffindor table, partnered each other during class. She helped me with my homework, and I listened to her. For two months, Hermoine was my only friend. 

But then. . .she left. 

I can't really blame her. If I was her, I"d have left me for Ron and Harrry too. They make her smile. She's smiling now, twirling one chesnut curl through her slender fingers, a far-off look in her eyes. Somehow, I don't think she's factoring equations anymore. One quick glance at Ron under her eyelashes convinces me. But. . .it's still unbalanced, I think. There's still an empty chair over there by the fire, where its warm. Across from Hermoine. I could get up, abandon my cold, hard wooden chair in the corner and soak up some light and wamth, even if it's only for a brief time. Long enough to thaw. 

It is unbalanced, the three of them. Harry and Ron sitting on the couch together, Hermoine in the chair by the fire. . . Or rather, it used to be unbalanced. It's not anymore. The newest addition has just ducked through the Portrait Hole, shivering and stamping, brushing clumps of snow off her robes. 

Ron glances up at his baby sister and then turns his attention back to whatever Harry's been writing on his scroll, scribbling madly. Harrry's not looking at his homework, though, he's still watching Ginny as she shakes her head, hair glinting in the firelight, and snowflakes drift from the fiery strands to land on her battered, second hand shoes. 

Last year, Ginny wouldn't have stepped up near the fireplace, stripping off her coat and rubbing her fingers together for warmth, not if Harry, Ron and Hermoine were nearest the fire. No, she'd have glanced at them almost imperceptibly, eyes flickering over all of them in turn. . .resting longest on Harry. . . .before creeping away as quickly and silently as possible. Lasy year, she wouldn't have gone near the fire to get warm. Instead, she would join me here, in the corner. I'd share my sugar quills--which would snap, sometimes, from the cold--and we'd both sit and study, watching the fire play across the faces of the other people in the room, watching as the orange, red and yellow hues cast warmth and light everywhere. . .except in out cold little corner. 

For awhile. . .the two of us. . .we had each other. Neville and Ginny. We even went to the Yule Ball together. She looked so pretty in her dark green dress robes, even if they were a little worn. . 

For awhile, I had someone. Like Lavender and Pavrati, Seamus and Dean, Fred and George. Like Harry and Ron. How could I have ever imagined that Ginny, with hair of flame, would ever be content sitting in a cold, dark, drafty corner? And so. . .she left me. Gradually. She stopped sitting next to me in the Hall during meal times. Stopped waiting for me so that we could walk to class together. Stopped smiling at me for no reason. 

I have a Sugar Quill in my mouth now, but it's so cold it won't dissolve. . .it tastes almost icy on my tongue, and I have to suck hard to get any sweetness. Frozen spun sugar, it turns out, does not warm you up. 

Harry's finally dropped his eyes, he's staring at his arithmancy book but not really seeing it. It may just be the glow from the fire--it may--but somehow I don't think that's the reason his face is flushed. He's very deliberately not looking at Ginny now. She's leaning over the side of Hermoine's chair, whispering to her, rosebud mouth hidden by the curls of Hermoine's tawny hair. Hermoine shakes her head minutely, biting her lip again. . .but the look is back in her eyes, and a small smile keeps wanting to form at the corners of her mouth. Quicker then thought, her eyes flash over to Ron, who's been watching her unabashedly for the last few minutes. Their eyes lock. . . 

Whoa. 

You can almost feel it between them. Ginny has moved now, walking with careless grace, running her fingers though her snow dampened, fiery hair, wood brown eyes flashing. She glances over the common room--shadows and firelight playing upon the walls, and when her eyes meet mine, she smiles. 

But she doesn't see me. 

Not the way she used to. 

None of them. . .none of them really see me. And sometimes. . .sometimes it's just so cold, you know? Being alone, I mean. I love them all --my roomates and my fellow Gryffindors. 

They are my family, like McGonagall said. 

Too bad I had to be the unwanted step child. 

I just want someone. That's all. 

Harry and Ron. Hermoine and Ginny. 

Lavender and Pavarati. 

Fred and George. 

Dean and Seamus. 

Colin and Dennis. 

Then there's me. 

Neville. 

I'm trembling slightly. From the cold. The icy wind seems to have buried itself in my bones, so that even if I sat down on the hearth, close enhough so the fire would bake my skin, I couldn't get warm enough. Its just so cold over here, in the corner by the window. ______________________________________   
  


(Sniff.) Poor Neville! You've got to feel for the guy! I mean, the way JKR has everybody paired up, Neville's got no one. Imagine not having a Best friend. Oh, yeah. Review, if you like. 


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